Sherlock's Neck
by JuliaJekyll
Summary: Let's be real. We've all noticed how attractive Sherlock's neck is. Well, so has John. Just a fluffy little Johnlock oneshot that was floating around in my head for way too long. I don't own Sherlock, but this is a glimpse of what would happen if I did!


"I love you."

"I know."

"I bloody _love_ you."

"I know, John. Your actions-_mmmm_-make that quite clear."

John stopped kissing Sherlock's neck and looked up at him, a bit of good-natured exasperation in his eyes. "You know, most people would just say it back."

"Dull," said Sherlock, a slight growl in his tone as he roughly pulled John closer and took possession of his mouth. He kissed his boyfriend hard and eagerly, opening his mouth wide, using his tongue and his teeth, before finally pressing their closed, wet lips together so hard that it hurt. It was a rough, messy kiss, involving more saliva than could really be considered attractive, and painful in its intensity…but it was a pleasurable pain. It was an unattractiveness that could be forgiven, because it meant desire, because it meant love, and because it was just the two of them, alone in their flat, accepting of each other and the feelings they shared.

When at last even Sherlock decided that breathing was not sufficiently boring that he could sacrifice it to kissing John indefinitely, he pulled back, and he felt John's head drop onto his shoulder. Both men were panting slightly from the immensely enjoyable, albeit taxing, activity of passionate kissing, and both may also have been a little stunned. After months of dancing around, denying, or just plain ignoring their feelings for each other, they had finally become a couple, and now they were on the couch in their shared flat, snogging like a pair of teenagers. It was surreal, John thought, as he rested against Sherlock's chest, catching his breath. He'd definitely never pictured anything like this when he'd moved in with Sherlock.

He'd known for years that he was bisexual, though it had taken him ages to admit it, even to himself, and still more ages before he'd stopped fervently denying it to other people. He'd even been able to keep himself convinced, for a while, that he was completely straight, especially since his tastes had always been skewed more towards women. However, there was no denying it now, not that he would even want to anymore. He had fallen in love with Sherlock; mad, irritating, brilliant Sherlock Holmes, and he had no intentions of turning back.

As soon as he'd met Sherlock at Bart's, he'd immediately thought how attractive the man was. Not in an _I want to jump this bloke right here, right now_ sort of way, but definitely in an aesthetic way. That dark, curly hair, those piercing blue eyes, those high cheekbones…they were all damn nice to look at.

And then he'd noticed Sherlock's neck.

He hadn't seen it properly until Sherlock had turned to face him, but as soon as he had, all the blood in John's body had seemed to rush south at an embarrassingly high speed. Sherlock's neck was long, pale, and beautiful, and something made John think that it would have a lovely texture if he could just touch it. He recalled trying to think of an excuse to do so, any excuse in the world…_you look a bit peaked, mind if I check your pulse? You sound a little hoarse, should I see if your glands are swollen? I am a doctor, you know…please, say something stupid so that I can have a plausible reason to try and strangle you_…anything to touch that neck.

Of course, no excuse to get his hands-or lips-on Sherlock's neck had presented itself at the time, and John had had to watch as Sherlock had put on his coat and scarf, covering up the beautiful skin.

John had never hated an inanimate object so much.

He remembered thinking, later, about kissing that neck; about how smooth the skin would be under his mouth, about how it might taste. Faintly salty, he'd imagined, with a hint of soap. He'd pictured licking and gently, oh so gently, biting Sherlock's Adam's apple, possibly causing him to contort that arrestingly deep voice into a yelp of surprise, and then, hopefully, a moan of pleasure. John had thought that Sherlock moaning must be a wonderful sound.

Over the following weeks of living with Sherlock, of spending time with him, John had always found his gaze coming back to that gorgeous, infinitely kissable-looking neck. It had gotten so bad that he'd been almost grateful to Sherlock for wearing that bloody scarf whenever he went out; it had kept John from getting too distracted too often. Eventually, as his fascination with the consulting detective had turned inexorably into romantic interest, John's fixation with his neck had turned into constant wondering about the rest of his body. What would his lips feel like, if John were to abandon all pretense of heterosexuality and kiss them? Was his chest as perfect as his neck? If John could hold him and run his hands over his back, how would it feel?

There'd been emotional questions, too, harder to ask and more likely, John had thought, to remain unanswered. What would it be like to be loved by Sherlock? How would he respond to being loved by John? What would a relationship with that man even look like? Would it even be possible, considering that Sherlock had made it very clear from the start that he was "married to his work"?

All those worries were behind him now, though. Now, John could kiss Sherlock's neck whenever he felt like it. Tilting his head a bit, John began tonguing a line from Sherlock's collarbone upwards, tasting his skin. Clean and salty, just like it had been when this relationship was nothing but a beautiful fantasy.

Sherlock moaned slightly, and it, too, was as much of a turn-on as John had dreamed it would be. He continued moving his tongue, occasionally scraping lightly with his teeth.

"John," groaned Sherlock.

John smiled against Sherlock's flesh. "Yes?" he asked innocently.

Sherlock's hands moved to John's back, his fingers digging in slightly. "John, please," he said again, shifting his hips a bit.

John's grin grew wider. Apparently the arousal Sherlock was nursing (which his flannel trousers did very little to hide) was becoming uncomfortable. John found that he was inclined to torture his boyfriend a bit, however.

He pressed his mouth against Sherlock's magnificent neck, alternating between licks, nips, and kisses that were intentionally a little on the sloppy side. For such a refined bloke, Sherlock liked sloppy kisses, which John had been rather surprised to find out. He certainly wasn't complaining, though.

"Do you," John asked, smacking on a couple more kisses, "have any idea", he placed his left hand on Sherlock's chest, feeling his pounding heart, "how sexy", he finished with a couple of open-mouthed kisses on Sherlock's jaw, "your neck is?"

"Yes, John," Sherlock growled, "you've told me repeatedly. Now _bloody touch me_."

"Patience," John crooned, as, without removing his mouth from Sherlock's jaw, he began running his hand over the other man's chest and stomach, always stopping just short of what Sherlock _really_ wanted him to touch.

"Oh, for God's sake!" Sherlock cried suddenly. "I love you too, damn it! I'm mad about you, John; you're brilliant, you're the love of my life! I'm sorry I didn't say it back immediately; now stop tormenting me!"

John paused in his kissing for a moment. It honestly hadn't occurred to him that Sherlock was interpreting this as some sort of a punishment, but if it got him to apologize _and_ tell John he loved him in the same sentence, maybe he'd try pushing the boundaries of his boyfriend's restraint more often.

"Is that all true," John asked, "or do you just want me to touch your cock?"

"Well, yes, of course I do," Sherlock said matter-of-factly, but then he put his hand on John's jaw, pulled back a bit, and looked into his eyes. "But yes, it's all true, John. Don't think for a second that it isn't. I love you desperately." He cupped John's face in his hands and glanced down at his throat. "You know," he said, "your neck is rather attractive as well." With that, he leaned down and began to kiss John's neck, first slowly, and then with increasing aggressiveness.

John sighed and leaned his head back so that his lover could have better access. He moaned low in his throat as Sherlock's mouth moved across his neck and, eventually, back up to his lips. As John returned his kiss, wrapping his arms around Sherlock in the process, he let himself forget everything else and slide into bliss.

He was so happy that he didn't have to wonder anymore.


End file.
